


spandex mister, wedgie in his keister

by ahatfullofoctarine (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Crack, Drunken Shenanigans, Groping, Halloween Costumes, Humor, M/M, Minor Allura/Keith (Voltron), Minor Hunk/Lance (Voltron), No Plot/Plotless, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Relationship, Samoan Hunk (Voltron), Sensuality, Spider-Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-09 23:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ahatfullofoctarine
Summary: Who's your date?”Shiro glanced furtively at the guy beside him on the porch, undoubtedly grinning beneath the mask. He weighed the likelihood of drunk, but weirdly hyper-focused Lance pressing the matter if Shiro corrected him, internally shrugged, and answered,"Spider-Man."





	spandex mister, wedgie in his keister

**Author's Note:**

> for the ShattSunday prompt: "Costume Party"  
> -Marvel AU where Matt is Spider-Man.  
> -Side Helpings of Side Pairings - heed the tags oi  
> -there's a shatt server if you're wanting to hang out with other peeps who enjoy this pairing, just hit up the admins @shattsunday on tumblr and they can hook you up :)
> 
> ok enough chatter, enjoy!

The voice Shiro heard when the blindfolds came off might have been distorted, but he knew who it was by the morbid-cheerful tone.  Credit to Spider-Man for taking that extra step to disguise his identity, given the hefty price tag on his head by both the Daibazaal PD and the Galran mob, _but..._

 

“Ooh! Ooh! I had something for this…how’s it _hangin’_ , my dude? Huh? _Huh_?” He elbowed Shiro suggestively.

 

 _...sometimes_ Shiro, patient to a fault that he was known to be, could feel overcome by the temptation to strangle a person. Case in point: his ten-times rescuer.   

 

Instead he had to settle for glaring in such a sufficiently indignant manner, such that it might nearly have been enough to distract from the fact that Shiro was _still_ bound by rope and hanging upside-down at least four feet from the floor with duct tape over his mouth.

 

Fifteen minutes _after_ the smelling salts had taken effect.

 

Spider-Man smiled, the material pulling a little more taut near his cheeks while he spoke.

 

“Sorry, insensitive of me. Trying to make conversation while you're all... _tied up_.” Shiro glared. “No?  Not to worry; we shall get a smile out of you yet!”

 

He went to work with a snicker, Shiro glaring daggers in his back, turning to the closest unconscious henchman lying near his feet and searching his pockets.  

 

“Shuriken, shuriken, gucci gang, louis gang...I know _one_ of you punks had one...” He moved on to the next and started patting her down, panicking and apologising profusely when his hand accidentally grazed her chest area.

 

He carried on like that for a fashion, and might have dragged this on a lot longer seeing as the not-so-abandoned-after-all loading dock they were in stretched the entire length of a football field, bodies scattered _every which way you looked_ \- had Shiro _not_ rolled his eyes and made an even louder, more indignant sound; halfway between a squawk and a scream while he struggled to little avail.  

 

It felt as if the ropes tightened the more he wriggled, but the intent had to count for something.  Shiro was getting light-headed and woozy again and he’d be damned if he passed out without giving Spider-Jerk a verbal lashing.  Didn’t the average spider have eight eyes? There was literally a military-issue bayonet lying on the table _right under Spider-Man's nose_ where Daibazaal’s underbelly had been conducting their business before the guy burst onto the scene, and there he was, messing around looking for a freaking-

 

“ _Mmmpgf-_ ”

 

“Yes _yarny_?” Spider-Man inquired, all casual. He was perched atop a stack of crates when Shiro had him in his sights again, unconscious lackey dangled precariously by the hem of one of his pant legs, watching impassively as coins, lint, and a few pieces of gum still in the wrapper rained onto the floor.  A shakedown in the most literal sense. Shiro actually stopped struggling to stare, fascinated. The lackey had to weigh at least two hundred pounds, clean, but Shiro hadn't detected so much as a hint of a strain in Spider-Man's voice.

 

Was it the suit? No, impossible, that thing looked like it was made of spandex, and spandex was for holding things _together_ , and _in_ \- not _up_.

 

Spandex’s metahuman cousin, perha-

 

“ _Rasengan_!” Spider-Man hollered, hurling a shuriken in Shiro's direction.  

 

Shiro heard the snap as it sliced through the rope and found himself in freefall for two terrifying seconds, cold concrete rushing up to meet him -

 

\- only to land damsel style in Spider-Man’s outstretched arms.

 

“Touchdown!” Spider-Man proclaimed.

 

Shiro had no words - nay, the requisite _thought processes_ to generate said words, and the fact that the wind had been knocked out of him when he’d been snatched out of the air with tape over his mouth had little to do with it.  Spider-Man's physique for all of its lanky-looking limbs and not much else _everything_ _else_ , was disturbingly _solid_. Leanly built. It was just as well that Shiro's - well, Shiro’s _everything_ was _still_ bound at the precise moment this realization hit him - he was eighty percent sure that if he stood, his knees wouldn’t have been able to keep him upright for very long.

 

Spider-Man sat him up against a crate, gently removed the duct tape from Shiro’s mouth and went to work on the ropes, slicing at them with the bayonet.

 

 _Wonderful_ , Shiro thought, the scowl on his face returning with renewed annoyance. So he _had_ seen the knife.

 

“So I’m probably the last person you wanna hear this from, but you should find a safer line of work...”  Spider-Man stated. “Because _this_ ”  he nodded at their surroundings before cutting the last of the rope “is _knot_ for you. Ahaha you thought I was _darn_ , didn't you.”

 

Shiro rubbed his wrists and ankles, glaring.  Right as he opened his mouth to rip into the guy about the corruption running rampant in Daibazaal; the multi-million dollar figures he’d painstakingly traced from shell corporation to shell corporation all the way back to their homes in the Caymans; the _names_ of all those before him who’d been _taken care of_ in their pursuit of truth and justice -  Spider-Man stuck out his hand.

 

“That was a joke,” Spider-Man said. “I think what you’re doing is brave and noble.  If this city had more people like you I wouldn’t have to pull wedgies out of my asscrack on a daily basis, swinging around flashing my goddamn _keister_ at unsuspecting grannies down Arus Ave-”

 

Shiro snorted, and finally burst into laughter, his shoulders heaving with the effort. Spider-Man waited for him to recover before helping him up, comically dusting off Shiro’s shoulders and straightening Shiro’s jacket for him.  

 

“Boy. Was starting to think you were new on the job and Sendak’s flunkies were hazing you with that grumpy cat impersonation. Now, where to?  I’ll be your escort this evening.”

 

“ _Escort_?” Shiro wheezed, laughter cutting short in his throat.  “What on earth would I need an-”

 

“It’ll take a couple of hours for Beemer to scrub the security footage off the cloud, so just in case one of these guys have a photographic memory and remembers your face - I’m playing baby-sitter.   _So_. Where to?”

 

There was a chilling finality to that statement, Shiro noticed, despite the casual tone. It held an undercurrent of ‘I'm Doing What I Want Regardless and I'm Only Telling You to be Polite’ that Shiro saw no counter argument for.  Besides, it was highly likely such a statement would be enforced with the supernatural strength he'd witnessed thus far.

 

“Erm. Castle Hill.  Please.” Shiro added reluctantly.

 

. . .

 

Since it wasn't safe for Shiro to head home just yet, Allura's Annual Halloween Bash - that Shiro usually _never_ made it to on account of work obligations -  was the perfect pseudo safehouse for Shiro keep himself entertained and cover for Spider-Man while he babysat. It only occurred to Shiro after he'd rung the doorbell that they actually hadn't agreed on a backstory to tell the others, so he spent the two minutes it took for the door to get answered racking his brain for a low maintenance, plausible anecdote that wouldn't arouse too much suspicion.  

 

“Psst. My guy.” Spider-Man nudged him this time. “ _Hey-_ ”

 

“ _What_.” Shiro groused.

 

“Your jacket, thought I recognized it.  I actually had to ask Beemer to look it up on the net. You _nerd_ .” Spider-Man teased.  “Who the hell tries to whistleblow the Galran mob in an _Erwin Smith_ cosplay?”

 

“You tell me, guy dressed in spanx.”  Shiro dug his hands in his pant pockets, gaze deadpan at the door, fighting off a blush.

 

“ _Bulletproof_ spanx.  And I've never seen that show, so I thought I'd get a second opinion. My sister's been trying to get me into it for _years_.”

 

Shiro paused in the middle of ringing the doorbell and turned. “ _Bulletproof_?”

 

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “Oh, right, like a Galran crime boss is gonna come at me with a BB gun. Also, not that it matters, but BB bullets hurt a hell of a lot more for some reason. Got me right in the Baby Maker.”

 

Shiro’s mouth opened. Closed. He wasn't quite sure what the appropriate response was to a statement like that.

 

Fortunately, the door was opening.  

 

Midnighter!Lance's expression, which had already been in a wonderful state of inebriated bliss, lit up even further the minute he spotted Shiro.

 

“You made it!”

 

The drink in his hand spilled a little as he lunged forward to envelope him in a bear hug. He squeezed hard enough that Shiro could see Spider-Man wince in his peripheral vision.  

 

Shiro returned the hug with as much mobility one could muster with their arms pinned to their sides.  Warmed as he was by the greeting, it wasn't Lance if there wasn't an ulterior motive tied to it.

 

“You made a bet with Keith, didn't you.”

 

“Fifty big ones,” Lance answered proudly, withdrawing to survey Shiro's guest from head to toe. “Who's your date?”

 

Shiro glanced furtively at the guy beside him on the porch, undoubtedly grinning beneath the mask. He weighed the likelihood of drunk, but weirdly hyper-focused Lance pressing the matter if Shiro corrected him; internally shrugged, and answered,  
  
"Spider-Man."

 

Lance shifted closer to the aforementioned, peering suspiciously at him, the effect rendered more comical than intimidating because his Midnighter mask was a tad lopsided.

“So, Spidey. Are you good at alcohol and do you like Twister and do you want to make the Red Team eat your bobos?”

Spider-Man tapped his chin thoughtfully for a second before he answered, counting off his fingers. “ _Hell_ yes. Shit _yeah_. I'll force feed ‘em if I have to.”

 

“Excellent!” Lance swung an arm over Spider-Man's shoulder like a lasso and started corralling him inside. “Because like. They're a - belch -  bunch of ugly cheating boogers and there's this _one_ bitchass named _Keith_ …”

On and on he rambled to Spider-Man about whatever exaggerated slight Keith had done _this time_ , Spider-Man being a good enough sport to play the part of Sympathetic Enabler.  

 

Which, naturally, would have left anyone with context completely baffled.

 

Alcohol was in order.

 

. . .

 

“ _So_ .” Wonder-Woman!Allura said over the punch bowl, having scooped another drink for Shiro and presumably for the backstory Shiro was still trying to figure out.  

In the living room Spider-Man was facing off against Keith on the Twister mat, the rest of the party guests encircling and jeering while a tipsy Slav squinted at the board in his hand.  Shiro wasn't an expert in optometry, but it would probably help all parties involved if _someone_ told Slav his color corrective glasses were sitting in his hairline.   

A peanut hit Shiro in the temple right as Bat-Keith collapsed to the floor, swearing.

 

“Paid actor or paid cousin?” Allura smiled, unwinding a bit of her lasso - fashioned out of gold spray-painted sennet - and holding it out to him.

 

Shiro smiled back, coiling it around his pinkie, smug with the knowledge that he didn't need to lie. “Neither.”

 

Allura rolled her eyes, reattaching her lasso to her hip. “And next I suppose you'll be telling me you literally just met him tonight.”

 

“As a matter of fact.” Shiro answered, taking a sip.

 

“And that he's Spider- _Hot_ under that mask.  A girl could cut glass with that jawline...” Allura mused, causing Shiro to choke and spit out his punch the second his eyes darted back to the living room.  

 

Everyone had moved on from Twister to squish together on Allura's beautiful söderhamn for Spooky Charades led by Lance.  Spider-Man was perched on the one of the arms, his mask rolled up to expose the lower half of his face - evidently to make knocking back whatever poison was in his red cup easier -  and Shiro found he couldn't disagree with Allura's assessment.

He was smart enough, however, to recognize that much of the appeal surrounding Spider-Man's lower face was a direct consequence of the curiosity regarding the unrevealed other sixty per cent.

Still, Daibazaal's ‘Right Hand of God’ - Daiba City’s affectionate moniker for Allura- was well and truly _smashed_ , so it voided her judgement in some respects. It had to be through sheer force of spite that she was still awake and more importantly, _upright_.

 

A side effect of dating Keith, probably. Theirs was a match up that seemed predestined almost.  If Allura as District Attorney was God’s Right Hand, then it stood to reason that Captain Kogane was Her Sledgehammer.

 

Speaking of ‘hand’, one closed itself over Shiro's shoulder and squeezed, pulling him out of his reverie and staring at his now empty cup.

 

(Four-drink!Shiro sure was contemplative.)

 

“Who you making _googly eyes_ at?” Hunk teased.  He pretended to crane his neck, peering into an imaginary telescope and Shiro laughed, shoving him.

“Nice to see you too Apollo.”

 

 _And Hunk's ass_ , Shiro thought appreciatively, watching Apollo!Hunk straighten. (Ha, _straighten_.) Shiro suspected one of the reasons Lance loved Halloween was that it was the perfect excuse to get his fiancé walking around in spandex - not that Shiro would be the first to complain. Last year they'd gone as members of the X-Force and Hunk had been a hit in his Deadpool costume. Had woken up with twenties stuffed down his crotch apparently.

 

“Mm-hmm.” Hunk shook a can of peanuts into his mouth, crunching noisily. Sober ‘I Went to Culinary School, Bitch!’ Hunk would have used a plate.

 

Shiro helped himself to more punch, seeing as Wonder Woman had disappeared off to somewhere.

 

“Spidey seems nice.” Hunk offered, smiling. His eyes were glassy.

 

Nice enough to rescue Shiro from possible death. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

“He's also hella _smart_. How'd you even meet him?”

 

“Are you insinuating that I'm somehow _not_?”

 

“ _Uso_ .” Hunk rested a salt-covered hand on Shiro's shoulder. “Think critically here for a second.  Look at _your_ day job and then think about _his_.”

 

Shiro froze. “You _know_?”

 

“Engineering major, _duh_.  I’m fluent in geek.” Hunk puffed his chest pompously.  “The guy talks like he spends all his time cooped up in a lab.  I bet you he hasn't had a night out in a long while.”

 

Shiro relaxed as he considered it. Crime-fighting definitely wouldn't leave room for much else on Spider-Man's schedule. “No, I guess not.”

 

Hunk’s eyes narrowed. “You _guess_?”

 

Shit. “I just met him tonight.” Shiro shrugged.

 

“Well then. Think you should go talk to him.” Hunk tossed more peanuts back, emptying the can.

 

“Yeah, I will.”

 

“ _Now_ , Shiro. You gotta go _now_.” Hunk insisted, through a mouthful of peanut.  

 

“I'm _fine_ Hunk.”

 

“Not you.” Still chewing, Hunk reached out and physically turned Shiro's head to the living room where Allura was presently trying to unmask Spider-Man. Shiro pushed away from the counter with a sigh.

 

More alcohol was in order.

 

.  . .

 

Shiro was too slow to catch Allura mid-lunge, but that was fine, since Keith intercepted before he could. Keith had an almost preternatural radar when it came to thwarting his drunk girlfriend's shenanigans and Shiro didn’t think she'd take too kindly to the shenanigan-thwarting had it been anyone else. Case in point, when Keith tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry - she _giggled_.

 

“Ooh you're _strong_ like my boyfriend.”

 

“And you're _drunk_ like my girlfriend.” Keith sighed, mouthing an ‘I'm Sorry' at Spider-Man who shrugged. Keith was poised to say more when he jumped a little, his face turning red.

 

“Allura!” He hissed.

 

“And you _feel_ like my boyfriend.” Allura mused, squeezing Keith's ass cheeks with both hands. “Buns of steel, buns of will, cute steely buns of justic--”

 

“Aaaand we're walking.” Keith half-shouted, making a beeline for the nearest exit point, Allura continuing to cop a feel. Even after they disappeared into the adjoining hallway they could surprisingly still be heard over the music - Keith's protests in tandem to Allura's... _whatever_ it was Allura was doing _now_.  Shiro suspected that was largely in part to Lance, who presently held the stereo remote and a smug smile on his face.

 

“Yeah, get it Lulu!” Hunk called from the kitchen.  “Show him your lasso!”

 

“On it!” Allura chirped, earning a snicker from Lance.

 

“‘Cute steely buns’. _Jesus_.” Spider-Man laughed, resting his arms behind his head and looking quite at home. “I love her,  she's so pretty and cute. This is so awesome.”

 

“I need another drink.” Shiro decided.

 

.  . .

 

“It's made of scaultrite!” Spider-Man was yelling at Hunk over the music. Evidently the Hennessy - _two_ bottles of Hennessy drunk straight - was finally taking effect.

 

“What the fuck is a scaultrite?” Hunk yelled back, spinning Spider-Man out.

 

“It's a kidney stone from from a space worm! It's worth two million units a piece!  The king of Dakwanda gifted it to me.”

 

“What the fuck!” Hunk laughed.

 

“That's what I said! Okay now, have you seen Dirty Dancing?  I want you to run at me!”

 

Hunk’s face lit up. He skipped to one side of the room, the living room floor denizens - mainly Coran and Slav and Slav’s cousins who all looked like Slav - wisely scooting to the edges to make room. On the opposite end Spider-Man was making a real show out of it, rolling his head around his shoulders and bouncing on the balls of his feet. What an asshat.  

 

“You ready Hunky?”

 

“One sec.” Hunk cupped his hands and called across the living room to Lance who was vaping in a dark corner, scrolling through his phone.  “Babe! _Babe_!”

 

“ _What_.” Lance glanced over. Shiro could see the exact moment the cogs in the latter's brain stuttered, then started up again when his eyes widened.  Shiro could also pinpoint exactly when the gears in his own head churned out the probability that Lance had been pleasantly surprised rather than abjectly horrified. It was when Lance cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered,

 

“Mr. Garrett! Set Thrusters to Full!”

 

“We’re giving it all she’s got, Captain!”

 

Hunk took off.  

 

Shiro tried to stand and the whole world tilted on a 45 degree angle when he did. Defeated, he collapsed back onto the couch in a daze, watching as Hunk was lifted high over Spider-Man’s head, Swayze-style.

 

Hunk looked like he’d never been happier, arms outstretched and soaring. “Captain! Requesting reinforcements!”

 

“Way ahead of you.” Lance declared giddily, already at the end of the runway, preparing for takeoff. “Ready Spidey?”  

 

Shiro was faintly sure Spider-Man was, but in all honesty Lance looked like he wouldn’t have stopped if the answer was otherwise. Luckily for Spider-Man, Allura and Keith’s living room was adequately lengthy enough to buy the latter time.

 

“Wait! Me too!” Allura chimed in, disengaging from what had previously been the single organism called Keith-and-Allura on the couch, and hurrying over, an exasperated groan from Keith trailing after her. She launched herself down the runway, dragging Lance by the hand, and Shiro, not at all enthused having extrapolated the potential disastrous result, stared at the ceiling.

 

“And ignition!” Spidey declared.  Allura squealed excitedly.

 

“Keith! Baby, look!”

 

“Christ on a cross.” Keith said hoarsely. Shiro tensed, remembering exactly what this man did for a living.  “How the hell are you doing that?”

 

“Eh, the ush- bit of cross-fit, pilates, calisthenics, that kind of thing.” Spider-Man shrugged.  “You want upsie?”

 

“Oh fuck yes.” Keith said, jumping to his feet. “Shiro! Hold my beer.”

 

Shiro sculled it.

 

. . .

 

The rest of the night passed by in a blur of what Shiro could only describe as the ‘Stupid Olympics’, whereby every single person in Spider-Man’s vicinity dared him to do something they’d all give a double-take at if they rewatched the scene without beer goggles.  Of course, it didn’t help that Spider-Man was as much instigator as he was willing participant in every single one of them. Everyone got a ride on the Swayze-machine, everyone arm-wrestled him; first individually, and then as a group - and lost. They’d played darts - that is, Spider-Man stood in front of the dart board and caught them, and when the darts got boring Keith got out his prized set of knives, which Spider-Man caught, too.  Easily. And then Lance dared him to do it blindfolded.

 

The cheers that erupted the moment Spider-Man caught the last one shook the entire house.  

 

. . .

 

There was a woman in the kitchen when Shiro broke away from the herd, younger than everyone else in Shiro’s friend circle that Shiro hadn’t really gotten around to introducing himself to -  on account of watching Spider-Man edge precariously closer to blatantly blurting out that he was the real deal to all parties present. She was perched on the edge of the counter snacking on Cheetos when Shiro entered; as much a guest as Shiro was in Allura and Keith’s household - yet Shiro was sure he'd encroached on enemy territory, with that dangerous look in her eyes. _Eye_. She was wearing an eyepatch over one of the lenses of her glasses.  

 

“Uhh...Hange?” Shiro hazarded. It had taken him a second to realize she had the same Scouting Corps jacket he did.

 

“Yep.” ‘Hange’ continued to chew as she studied Shiro, mulling over whatever complicated equation had presented itself in her head for solving. Shiro didn't think it could have been at all _that_ difficult: Shiro plus punch plus possibly his bodyweight in jelly shots and intermittent snacking - equated to him spilling his guts.

 

(Figuratively, but possibly literally. He needed to avert his gaze from anything that even remotely resembled a receptacle at this stage, the way his stomach was churning, but that made staring at Hange the only viable alternative.  She looked so sober she might as well have been _Mormon_ , and that in itself was a sobering thought. Spider-Man had been babbling truths that surface-wise seemed like utter nonsense all night, and while everyone else had been laughing, she’d remained stony-faced.)

“You're _sweating_ , Erwin.” Hange drank from her plastic purple wine glass, gaze not leaving his.  “Like you’ve got a secret. Titans in your closet?”

Shiro swallowed.  

“ _There_ you are!” Spider-Man announced. Except, he hadn’t been talking to Shiro, skipping over and scooping Hange up by her armpits. Holding her up Lion King style.

Shiro internally took a step back, mouth agape, waiting for her to pummel him - you know, _boundaries_ , and all that -  but there wasn't any resistance on her end. In fact, Hange did _nothing_.  It was like watching an excitable toddler pick up an overtired tabby cat. Or maybe this woman was too drunk to care, because she didn't even blink when Spider-Man, mask still half-rolled up, kissed her wetly on the cheek upon setting her down.  

“Hi Matt.” Hange sighed.   

Shiro blinked rapidly, his last two brain cells rubbing together for one final hurrah. _Matt_ . “Your name is _Matt_?”

“Yeah. ‘Course. Thought I told you--oh..crap. You know what? That might’ve been Wonder Woman.  Anyway.” Spider-Man tugged his mask off and stuck out a hand, grinning. “I’m Matt. Nice to meet you.  Your friends are cool. Also this is Pidge, my baby sister--”

“Your _only_ sister.” ‘Pidge’ muttered.

Shiro’s last brain cell, just as it bit it, took a picture of Matt’s face in perfect detail: his warm dark brown eyes and light brown hair tied loosely in a ponytail, the faded scar on his cheek, the _jawline_ he’d been staring at all night.

And then he pitched forward and vomited all over Spider-Man’s shoes.  

* * *

**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> Translation Notes:  
>  _"Uso"_ is Samoan for 'bro' or 'brother'. It's a term used between same gendered people. Girls can say it to each other. The short-form is 'uce', ~~which I personally find horrid~~
> 
> Costumes!  
> Shiro - Erwin Smith from Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan  
> Lance - Midnighter from DC/Wildstorm  
> Allura - Wonder Woman (can also be Nubia, Diana's sister if you want. She's equally gorgeous and kickass)  
> Batman - Keith  
> Hunk - Apollo from DC/Wildstorm  
> Pidge - Hange Zoë from Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan


End file.
